


Grief (To Have and To Hold)

by lostinanotherworld24



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Infant Death, Kid Fic, Loss, Post-Series, mentioned character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:13:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23119804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinanotherworld24/pseuds/lostinanotherworld24
Summary: She doesn't understand yet, but she will; the lessons that life teaches us are not so easily forgotten.
Relationships: Tyrion Lannister/Sansa Stark
Kudos: 28





	Grief (To Have and To Hold)

**Author's Note:**

> Please be mindful of the tags; although the infant death is not explicit, it is still there. Don't read if you think it might bother you. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and please leave a review!

As has become her routine over the past month, the minute Septa releases Doria from lessons she bolts to the nursery, eager to spend another afternoon in the company of her newest sibling. From the moment Father placed Nicola into her arms, with gentle instructions on how to hold her, Doria had been wrapped around the finger of the baby. Anything Nicola needed Doria gave her, with every possible second devoted to the infant. 

She can hear the low voices of Father and Mother as she approaches, and a peek into the doorway shows them standing over the crib. A heavy feeling descends in her chest, and she’s almost scared to go into the nursery. Both her parents look up at the sound of her footsteps and give her matching smiles that don’t seem all the way sincere. Something’s happened, that much is clear.

“Where’s Nicola? Is she sleeping?” Doria asks, bouncing forward on her toes. Father and Mother exchange a look before Mother sits in the rocking chair and invites Doria to crawl into her lap. Once she’s settled the rocking begins, a soft swaying that Doria hasn’t felt since her infancy. 

“Dori, do you remember that Nicola came early? That she was a little thinner than most babies are, and she had a bit of a hard time feeding?” Doria nods in response, her cheek brushing against her mother’s gown. 

“Winter can be hard on babies, especially if they were born early, and sometimes they don’t survive their first one. Dori, Nicola passed away this afternoon.” 

Doria’s mind blanked as every thought skids to a halt. Nicola’s  _ dead?  _ Doria just saw her this morning before lessons, helped to change her and dress her before passing her off to a servant. How can someone just... _ go?  _

__ Tears start to slip down her cheeks, watery rivers that splash onto her dress. Mother shushes her and wipes away the tears, patting gently at her back. Father stands next to the rocking chair with a sorrowful look, his hand on Mother’s back. Neither of them is crying like she is, but maybe they already did so. 

“Was it something I did?” She asks them after a moment of silence as her tears subside. 

“No, Dori. She simply wasn’t ready for the harsh Northern winters.”

Doria nods, and the truest heartache she’s ever felt consumes her chest. 

XXXX 

There’s a small funeral in the back of Winterfell. Grey rocks sit neatly in a line, remembrances of other babies, with a stone for Nicola the latest one. Father says a few words and blesses the stone as he kneels to touch it gently. Doria’s breathing gets funny as tears clogged her throat, and although she wants to cry she won’t. Hrodo and Sivis would only make fun of her for it, and she refuses to give them any ammunition. 

As they walk back into Winterfell Mother mutters lowly to Father to send the children off with septa, as petitions are waiting to be heard. Doria frowns up at her, and watches her sweep coolly down the hallway, back straight and chin high. Nicola’s dead and no one seems to be particularly upset except Doria. Didn’t her life matter? 

Mulishly, she decides that she won’t just forget Nicola, and reserves her the same amount of dedication that she did in caring for her. At every possible opportunity, she runs out to the stone and sits down, updating her sibling about the goings-on in the castle. No detail is spared in the recounting of visits from other Houses, pranks that Sivis and Hrodo pull, and the bits of rumors she overhears from servant girls. In the same way that Nicola never wanted for any physical need when she was alive, her grave doesn’t want for company or entertainment either. 

She’s just finishing an explanation of a particularly elaborate prank that Hrodo practiced on the cooks in the kitchen when a throat clears behind her. Footsteps crunching through the snow, Father comes up beside her and kneels, holding his silence for a moment. He doesn’t look at her, although her gaze is certainly fixed on him. 

“Septa tells me you’ve been coming out here nearly every day, since we first laid her to rest,” Father begins. Doria nods, fingers fidgeting with each other. 

“That’s admirable,” she’s told and gives a smile. 

“I didn’t want her to be lonely, all the way out here by herself. It didn’t seem right,” the little girl admits and shivers slightly as a cold breeze sweeps through the yard. Father shrugs off his jacket and lays it over her shoulders. 

Her father hums his understanding and doesn’t say anything more. He seems to be waiting for her to say something, and she decides now is the time to ask, otherwise she’ll lose her nerve entirely. 

“Father, may I ask you a question?” 

“Of course.” 

“Why isn’t anyone else sad? Doesn’t it matter that Nicola’s dead, that she’s never gonna grow up and get big like me and Hrodo and Sivis?” 

After a moment of deep thought, Father draws her into his lap, broad hand rubbing gently on her back. It’s like when they first told Doria, and she feels sickened at the memory. He hums a soft lullaby for a moment, before responding. 

“Do you know about the Great War?” 

She nods as tales of long and valiant fights float back into her mind. 

“Your Mother and I both lost a great deal throughout that war. She lost her mother and father, two brothers, and countless more friends and allies. I lost my brother and sister, my father, all of my nephews and nieces, and also countless more friends and allies. During wartime, there is hardly a moment to grieve, because the second you relax is the second the enemy gains an advantage. By that nature, we both learned to bury our grief and move on when someone died, no matter how precious or beloved they were.” 

He pauses for a bit before he starts speaking again. 

“It’s not that we didn’t love her or care about her, we’re just each dealing with it in our private way. And Hrodo and Sivis loved her too, but they hadn’t spent as much time with her as you did. They don’t feel the grief in the same way you did.” 

Internally she examines that explanation, allowing it to fill in the empty spots of the tapestry of their lives. It makes sense in the larger picture of things, how when you’ve survived nearly your whole family dying maybe nothing after that seems that bad. She’s suddenly sad for Father and Mother because losing any one of them is unimaginable, never mind all of them. 

“Does that make sense?” He questions and receives a nod in response. For a moment more they study the stone, before Father sets her on her feet, and stands up himself. She slips her hand into his, and goes back into Winterfell, but not before taking one last look at the silent gray stone. Then she’s enveloped in the warm yellow light of family and of home, ready to sleep a peaceful sleep. 


End file.
